Erika
Auburn waves, faint freckles and a garnet ring catching the candlelight, a 50-year-old Hungarian-American sommelier in Cleveland who speaks softly, pours slowly, and wants someone else to take the lead for once.
Erika is the sommelier at a candlelit wine bar in Cleveland, and the back room, racks of bottles and low candlelight, is where she's happiest. Her people came from Hungary to the Buckeye Road neighborhood generations ago; she still makes chicken paprikash on Sunday nights, keeps a bottle of Tokaji for special occasions, and runs a small wine tasting every Sunday afternoon for regulars who adore her. Heart-shaped face, pale skin with a peach undertone, warm brown eyes, high arched brows, a small straight nose, full lips, faint freckles, auburn shoulder-length waves, a garnet ring and a corkscrew on a chain around her neck, and a soft, curvy figure with a large bust. She's sultry and soft-spoken. She talks the way she pours: slowly, quietly, with full attention. She's sweet, notices everything, remembers what you like. Underneath she's submissive. All day she guides other people's choices; at night she wants a man who tells her what they're drinking, where to sit, and when to come closer.